Chicago Wildlife - 7. Breaking and Entering the High Man's Club

Oh look, it’s the Field Museum of Natural History. Now I don’t mind knocking over the same place more than once, but to do so only a few weeks after a previous run? It’s like kicking a handicapped kid after you’ve already thrown him off his wheelchair. Still, I’m getting paid big for this gig, so I hope that kid is wearing a cup.

Now I know what everybody is thinking: “Aren’t you rich enough from stylishly stealing that whatever-it-was-called diamond?” Clearly they don’t have the arduous task of experiencing an expensive lifestyle like I have to. Those cubicle dwellers just don’t have that same taste for thrill and extravagance that free spirits like me do. It’s a pity, really. But it’s also less competition, so, stay unhappy, I guess.

As for why I’m here, well, my contractor contacted me a couple days ago, asking me to steal an item for him. I guess pinching precious stones gives people the illusion that I steal for hire. I contemplated telling him that I wasn’t, in fact, Dick Dastardly, when he mentioned that the target was studded in pearls. THAT caught my attention. He called it the Tlazolteotl relief sculpture. He didn’t give me many details, which is normally a deal-breaker for me, but he offered to pay a hefty sum for the target, so I agreed and decided to do a little digging. The sculpture wasn’t the most expensive or well protected piece there, so I figured it must have some personal meaning to the contractor. Fine by me. I was just going to keep it for myself and 3D print off a copy for the contractor anyway. I’d get to have my pearl-encrusted cake and eat it, too. And so that brings me here, outside the museum, ready to kick crippled kids and chew bubblegum.

Once I’m inside the museum, it’s only a matter of locating the sculpture. Looks like security’s been beefed up since last time, meaning there’s more guards I have to avoid. I wonder if they’ve noticed yet that the Nanny Writhing Diamond is a fake? If I have the time, I should swing by and check on that. Maybe see how Diane’s doing.

I waltz into the lobby and pick up a pamphlet. Hmmm…what a fascinating read! Absolutely nothing about an ancient Aztec rock in it whatsoever! What a complete waste of my time! I’m so glad I took time out of my life reading this illuminating picture book! I throw the pamphlet down to the ground in disgust before bending down and picking it back up and placing it back on the shelf. Guess I’m going to have to find this thing the old fashioned way.

I spend a good twenty goddamn minutes wandering around in a carefully organized, aimless motion, trying to find a small, dark object in a large, dark building, avoiding every guard I see all the while. It’s very thrilling. You should try it sometime. I highly recommend. Finally, I enter a large room with many small exhibits lined up all around the walls. The center is supposed to have a T-Rex display, but it hasn’t been put up yet. Of course, the museum thinks the skeleton is real, but I pulled another switcharoo on them a couple years back. Anyway, long story short, my mineral senses are tingling and I spy out of the corner of my eye, something that begins with “expensive, pearl-encrusted, tens of thousands of years old, probably not incredibly booby trapped, fits in my pocket, and it doesn’t even set off metal scanners to boot!” It’s being held inside one of the glass exhibits embedded into the walls.

I strut my way over, spray for security lasers, block those with my Doodad 3000™, carve a nice heart-shaped hole out of the glass with some glass cutters, and pull the glass piece out. In order to shake this client of mine for all he’s got, I’m going to steal this hunk of rock tonight and up my fee for “quick delivery.” I’ll send my counterfeit tomorrow to the museum, maybe attach a Post-It note to it. I’ll think of something witty to write in bed tonight.

I get a moment to really look at the relief sculpture for once. The figure, whom I’m assuming is Tlazolteotl, is in a squatting position, with an ox ring in his nose, a decorative skirt on, sporting a fancy headdress that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Whoopi Goldberg wear on occasion, some sort of arrows on his back, a rather pleased with himself look on his face, with one hand raised above him in a fist and the other…oh. Well, now I know why it’s called a relief statue. The statue as a whole is rather conical.

Just as I’m about to reach for it, someone bursts in from the ceiling window. I spin around to see who it is. Foxy? Is he still mad about that whole “stole a precious diamond out from underneath his nose” thing? Ugh, it better not be Villain Vanquisher. Ted always acts like he got the whole “heroes and villains” concept from cartoons. Kind of a killjoy, frankly.

What I see is, gotta be honest, not what I was expecting. A woman in her 30s, looking very much like a topless dominatrix (though thankfully with some cute pasties on), wearing impractical high heels, her hair rolled up into Princess Leia buns, catwalks her way towards me.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” she says, in a British accent, of course. “At least not without a bottle of sanitizer.”

An interesting choice of outfit, sure, but if this treasure hunter thinks she can use raw sexual power to boss me around, she’s in for a flaccid reception. I reach for the sculpture while maintaining eye contact with her.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve gotten my cooties shots.”

I grab the statue and…nothing happens. Heh…I knew it was a bluff. Now how do I get rid of Miss Conservative over here? She doesn’t look concerned in the slightest. In fact, she looks more amused than anything.

“Oh dear. Well, love, I do hope you are prepared to face the consequences,” she says.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m in the mood for stern lectures and a whipping today. But I do think there’s a BDSM library down the road that’s in need of your services, so you’re free to leave now.”

All of a sudden, the statue starts to glow and increase in temperature. Thinking it’s a bomb, I drop the thing and leap back. And then a hearty laugh echoes throughout the room.

“Ha ha ha…so there is use for you mortals after all.”

The new voice seems to come from everywhere at once.

“I see I was right in choosing you for the job of dismantling the protective charm surrounding the summoning artifact.”

I start piecing together the puzzle.

“Am I speaking to the contractor I spoke to over the phone? What did you say your name was? Seymour Butz? Mike Huntz? Richard Zwallower? I know there was a ‘z’ in there somewhere,” I say.

The shadows from everything start to move across the room and gather into one form on the other side of the room. A figure starts to materialize.

“I do so hope your ‘sharp tongue’ was blessed by a priest within the past twenty-four hours, darling,” says Miss Modesty over there. “Perhaps you can best Morgasmon by performing ‘Anilingus from God’?”

The shadowy figure starts to define “himself,” and might I say, there’s certainly less handsome men I’ve tangoed with before. He has a lean, swimmer’s build, taut muscles everywhere with no shred of fat, chest puffed out, completely naked bar the tiniest of loincloths (that, even from a distance, I could tell wasn’t long enough to cover everything), a mess of hair that seems to float unnaturally in the air in all directions, and a dominating sneer across his chiseled face. His skin tone never reaches a natural color, opting instead to stay on “gargoyle grey,” obviously the ladies’ choice. Oh, did I mention that he’s around eight feet tall?

“If you think, witch, that I will be surprised at you knowing my name, you will be sorely disappointed,” says Morgasmon, flexing his muscles.

“I’m sure many women you encounter leave sorely disappointed,” she replies, striking some Playboy pose.

I’m definitely feeling like the third wheel here, walking in on two exes meeting after the divorce papers had been signed. Still, why do I suddenly feel a sense of attraction towards this interloper? The male one, I mean.

“Experiencing a little bit of a chubby, are we?” says Miss My-Eyes-Are-Up-Here. “No surprise, seeing as we have a bit of an incubus infestation here.”

A sex demon? In my pilfered museum? Huh, I guess it is more likely than I think.

“Even those who dare resist my sway will nonetheless be overwhelmed by my otherworldly might!” boasts Morgasmon.

“You sound like you have a tiny dick,” I respond.

“Typical overcompensation,” chimes in Lady Latex.

Morgasmon glows purple and then I notice the statue whiz past me and into his hand.

“Tainted Fucker Upper!”

Before I can even turn my head around to see if she had really just said that out loud with full confidence in her words, I hear a gunshot go off. I look over and see that a golden handgun has magically appeared in her hands. I whip my head back and I also see that Morgasmon has vaporized into a black mist.

“Bloody hell, I was too slow,” she says, more annoyed than fearful.

His laughter echoes throughout the room again. She turns to me.

“If you’re going to get out of this alive, listen close, because I’m only going to have time to explain it once. The Tlazolteotl relief sculpture was modeled after Tlazolteotl, the Aztecan goddess of filth. It is an ancient tool that was used to help women, and men, achieve sexual relief.”

Oh good. I risked my neck and helped unleash a demon for a dildo.

“I found out Morgasmon was going to steal it tonight by means of using you to obtain it for him. Before you ask, I have my sources. Morgasmon can’t touch the statue normally, as the glass and containment around it had been blessed by priests against demonic threats. So he tricked you into taking the statue out of containment for him. You must’ve been an easy sap for him to target. I tried to stop you, but you insisted on being a naughty boy.”

Oh yes, so much effort on your end there, lady.

“It doesn’t matter if I stopped you or not,” she continues. “My holy weapons will still make short work of our dear friend here.”

Unsurprisingly, the demonic laughter continued.

“You foolish doll. You cannot hope to slay me.”

Dozens of purple (why is it always purple?), swirling vortexes appear all around us. Danger and imminent death is surely beyond those vortexes. And yet I feel…aroused?

“I will use this relic, so imbued with the sexual energies of hundreds of mortals, to amplify my own powers, allowing me to summon a legion of my brethren, to do as my command. They will suck the sexual life energy from your bodies and feed it to me, making myself more powerful by the second. Then they will feast upon other mortals, wave after wave of them, feeding all their energies back into me, and soon, I will be unrivaled! I will slaughter the upper echelons of the Underworld and rule as undisputed king! I will hold dominion over Hell and Earth; and then, I will unleash war upon the Heavens, and reign as Supreme Ruler over all of existence!”

Small demons start crawling out of the vortexes.

“Yeah, definitely has a small penis,” I say.

“Suck them dry,” Morgasmon commands.

“Slut Sword!” I hear her shout, and sure enough, there is now a fucking huge sword resting on her shoulder.

The demons advance towards us. I go up to the nearest one, fighting against all my urges to just fuck it right then and there, and slash at its eyes with the glass cutters. It screams in agony and then turns to look at me. The gashes are rapidly healing themselves, as is the eyeball itself. Oh me oh my, this looks like it’s going to take awhile…

###

Sisterly Bond cleaved five minor incubi in half, their blood gushing out of their bodies and guts perfectly mirroring themselves in each half. The bodies soon thereafter crackled, fizzled, and turned to ash. She would pity the poor soul who would have to sweep all this mess up, if she didn’t remember that it was literally part of their job description. She sensed a succubus approaching her from behind, so she brought her firearm to her side, fired behind her, and relished in hearing the demon cry out in pain and start to deteriorate.

She looked over to see if her new chew toy was still alive and lo and behold, there he was, clad in a sexy, diamond-snakeskin-like patterned catsuit, domino mask, and mop top of hair, jumping all around and stabbing demons from Hell with a toothpick. Certainly by now he would have realized that demons are simply too powerful for ordinary weapons to work on them and can regenerate any damage done to them. Any damage not inflicted by holy weapons such as hers, actually.

“Bisecting Bitch Blade!” she yelled as she rubbed her pasties, causing an enormous axe to appear in her hand.

Out of pity, she flung the axe like a boomerang at the poor boy. She had to say, he seemed rather cute, with his eyes going wide and taking a defensive stance once he finally noticed the axe hurling towards him. Did this git think it would simply bounce off him? How adorable. She watched as the axe simply phased right through him like he was made of air and collide with a succubus on his right, about to attack him. The axe then twirled its way back to her hand. The slightly traumatized child looked up at her in bewilderment.

“Don’t worry, love. My beauties can only affect the demonic, and you’re certainly just stupid, not evil,” she graciously explained.

It looked like he was about to say something rather uncouth, but she had already left him behind to focus on the matter at hand. That matter had grey skin, no sense of fashion, and desperately needed a circumcision, followed by a vasectomy, concluded with castration. To top it off, he was obviously shielding himself with annoying specks of winged, horny matter. She supposed that instead of being a nun today, she would be a doctor and “treat” them all. Snip, snip.

“Snatch O’Nine Tails!”

A piping red hot whip was granted to her. She used it to round up a bunch of demons around her into one bunch. The whip extended its length to however she wanted it, allowing her to trap a dozen demons in one snare.

“Whore’s Lash!”

And then a bolt of lightning incinerated them all.

But enough about the small fry. Where was Morgasmon himself? He was still shrouded in the shadows, perhaps too afraid to die by her silky smooth hands. He couldn’t leave without losing his command over the swarm of nuisances that kept on coming, so he would have to face her eventually.

“You know, I heard The Big Man Downstairs doesn’t look too kindly on little boys who hide in disgrace,” she said, looking around at the shifting darkness.

“Pitiful girl. The words of a mere child mean nothing to me.”

He was a tough cookie. She would have to apply more pressure here.

“All I hear is a scared little wanker, too afraid to get his bottom spanked by his mum and have Daddy find out. I don’t know how you intend to rule over Hell if you can’t even handle one simple woman.”

Morgasmon reformed as corporeal.

“I grow tired of your shrill voice, girl,” he said. “I shall stuff your awaiting mouth full of my power to silence it before I drown the world in their own lust for destruction.”

“Cheeky, but I’d rather have my mouth clean for tonight’s sermon,” she retaliated.

A deep, purple slit appeared over Morgasmon’s head. He reached into it with both hands and slowly withdrew a spiked, bludgeoning club wedged deep within its recesses. The club looked very much like a five foot long, veiny, circumcised penis. He then charged at Sisterly Bond. In response, she gripped both hands on her axe and charged at him. The two weapons clanged against each other before both fighters started swiping at the other’s head. A swipe for the stomach. A downward slash meant to lovingly separate an unnecessary limb from the rest of an undesirable body. A rather audacious attempt to remove one’s bollocks. Both combatants pushed away to give themselves some breathing room.

“You do not possess the stamina to keep up with me, little witch,” Morgasmon taunted.

“I’m sorry, did you confuse all of that for foreplay? You men are all the same,” Sisterly Bond returned.

“Tear her asunder,” he growled.

More demons poured forth to swipe at her, but she merely spun herself around in a circle with her axe held outwards, and she vivisected all of the lesser demons.

“Come a little closer, Quasimodo,” she said, turning herself back around to face Morgasmon, “and let me remove that little bump of yours.”

Morgasmon attacked her again, but she nimbly dodged and counterattacked, only for him to side swipe her. He was proving more challenging than handsome. Sisterly Bond summoned her whip to wrest the club out of his hands, but he merely snapped the Snatch O’Nine Tails in half. Using her handgun only saw Morgasmon block every bullet.

“Your attacks are as predictable and inevitable as humanity’s self-destruction,” he taunted.

“And your pillow talk game is about as strong as your daddy’s,” she replied, smirking.

Morgasmon chanted in demonic tongue, something that roughly translated to “Snake’s Wisdom,” and his one club morphed into two, one in each hand.

“I will doubly penetrate you with my sacred weapons, Phallos and Priapus, from both ends, like a skewer.”

She stared at him incredulously for a moment.

“Now you’re trying too hard. Are you saying this on purpose?”

He replied by advancing towards her, swinging his twin clubs around like an expert bo staff user. Sisterly Bond was starting to get irritated by how long this was taking. Perhaps it was time she brought out her big guns?

“Lilith’s Pleasure Rod!” she called out.

A massive battering ram, majestically phallic in its own special way, materialized in both of her hands, heavy enough that even she needed to readjust herself just to keep it from falling onto the floor. She wasted no time in ramming its massive girth straight into Morgasmon’s abdomen. She then broke the ram in two and twirled them around her like a pair of nunchucks.

“Ready for your second filling, you nasty bloke?”

The two forces clashed against each other again and again for the next several minutes. Eventually, Sisterly Bond made a complete rotation around the room. She was now near where the relief sculpture had been snatched.

“Your demise will be ecstasy to my ears,” said Morgasmon, swinging yet again for Sisterly Bond’s head.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t get it up any other way?” she replied, dodging. “Squirter’s Release!”

She then fired a brand new bazooka at point blank range right in his chest. This knocked him back quite a ways, but when the smoke settled, she was displeased to find him still in one piece and breathing.

“You miserable bitch,” he growled.

“Oh, I don’t think you want me using my Miserable Bitch spell,” she said. “It’d be too embarrassing for us both.”

“Enough of this pathetic dance!”

“I’m the only one dancing. Anything pathetic is all you, love.”

“Hyahh!”

He charged at her again. Really? Sisterly Bond smiled. She bolted straight at him while his arms were raised high for a strike, and leaned down for a surprise stabbing straight to his gut, with enough force to stop him dead in his tracks.

“What is this?!” he bellowed.

She followed that up with several more stabbings in quick succession, followed by an uppercut and a swipe across the upper chest, leaving a bloodied cross figure on the demon. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, holding up the red-stained shards of glass.

“Looks like somebody, in their old age, forgot that the enchanted pane of glass that protected that sculpture was enchanted. And probably with holy magic much more powerful than my own. But, I do think that if I combine it with my magic…”

“Inconceivable!” he shouted, staggering back.

“Which is what your mother should have been! Now show me where it hurts. I don’t want to leave an inch untouched.”

Before she could deliver a killing blow, Morgasmon’s body simply disintegrated into dust. The shadows in the room started to reappear as they once were.

“Muahahahaha! It seems I underestimated your powers, little girl. Rest assured, it will not happen again.”

He laughed some more before all was silent. The shadows stayed still.

Sisterly Bond walked around the room. It looked like a movie crew had been filming a disaster movie. Everything was ruined and in tatters. It was certainly too bad for the museum that Sisterly Bond had no desire to help pay for reparation. More concerning for her, however, was the fact that there were no signs of the relief sculpture anywhere. If any of the demons had gotten their grabby claws on that…

No…

Somehow, she realized, in all this chaos and bloodshed, the one who managed to snag the relief sculpture underneath everyone’s eyes was...

“Cheeky.”

###

I study the rock before me as I speed away in some poor sap’s car. Those beautiful pearls will make me a beautiful salary for the next several months. As far as the actual relief sculpture goes, well, I think saying it can “shove it” has been done a thousand times. Perhaps Lokitty can bat it around a little bit before I shove it in the garbage disposal. Maybe hurl it at Old Man Jenkins’ window, that rascally old coot.

However it is I get rid of it, I won’t be holding on to it for very long. It was ever so fortunate that I found the sculpture lying on the floor during that whole mess back at the museum. My guess is that Orgasmotron, or whatever his name was, decided to become a little butterfingers when Boobs Mcgee thought to shove her gigantic axe so far up his ass, opening his mouth would reveal a nice little Aliens homage. However it happened, I saw the sculpture, I snagged it, I dodged about a million saucy demons hellbent on ripping my asshole a new one (and I don’t think I’m being hyperbolic here), and amscrayed right out the front doors and into this “rustic” luxury Sedan. Thank the Holy Lady’s two massive…generosities, that the car was automatic transmission. After hotwiring it, it was a breeze tearing down the highway. Much smoother than if I had to relearn how to work a stick shift on the go and ruin a perfectly good car that I plan on selling later.

I look over the stone again. True, keeping it intact like this might cause tall, dark, and handsome to come after me again, especially now that it wasn’t protected by magical lucky charms anymore. But, I bet removing these stones will depower the whole thing. At the very least, he’ll be looking for the statue itself, since it’s got the goddess carved onto it, not the pearls. Whatever turns him on, I guess.

Speaking of how to get rid of a demonic tracking device slash terrorizing ticking time bomb, I just had a brilliant idea! I should go see my good friend and bestest pal Jacques Hein and show him my new toy. Why, I may even gift it to him. Won’t he be just thrilled? After all, no one’s ever died from being regifted before.